The Fellowship of Books

I care not who the man may be,
  Nor how his tasks may fret him,
Nor where he fares, nor how his cares
  And troubles may beset him,
If books have won the love of him,
  Whatever fortune hands him,
He’ll always own, when he’s alone,
  A friend who understands him.

Though other friends may come and go,
  And some may stoop to treason,
His books remain, through loss or gain,
  And season after season
The faithful friends for every mood,
  His joy and sorrow sharing,
For old time’s sake, they’ll lighter make
  The burdens he is bearing.

Oh, he has counsel at his side,
  And wisdom for his duty,
And laughter gay for hours of play,
  And tenderness and beauty,
And fellowship divinely rare,
  True friends who never doubt him,
Unchanging love, and God above,
  Who keeps good books about him.

When Sorrow Comes

When sorrow comes, as come it must,
In God a man must place his trust. 
There is no power in mortal speech
The anguish of his soul to reach,
No voice, however sweet and low,
Can comfort him or ease the blow.

He cannot from his fellowmen
Take strength that will sustain him then. 
With all that kindly hands will do,
And all that love may offer, too,
He must believe throughout the test
That God has willed it for the best.

We who would be his friends are dumb;
Words from our lips but feebly come;
We feel, as we extend our hands,
That one Power only understands
And truly knows the reason why
So beautiful a soul must die.

We realize how helpless then
Are all the gifts of mortal men. 
No words which we have power to say
Can take the sting of grief away—­
That Power which marks the sparrow’s fall
Must comfort and sustain us all.

When sorrow comes, as come it must,
In God a man must place his trust. 
With all the wealth which he may own,
He cannot meet the test alone,
And only he may stand serene
Who has a faith on which to lean.

Golf Luck

As a golfer I’m not one who cops the money;
  I shall always be a member of the dubs;
There are times my style is positively funny;
  I am awkward in my handling of the clubs. 
I am not a skillful golfer, nor a plucky,
  But this about myself I proudly say—­
When I win a hole by freaky stroke or lucky,
  I never claim I played the shot that way.

There are times, despite my blundering behavior,
  When fortune seems to follow at my heels;
Now and then I play supremely in her favor,
  And she lets me pull the rankest sort of steals;
She’ll give to me the friendliest assistance,
  I’ll jump a ditch at times when I should not,
I’ll top the ball and get a lot of distance—­
  But I don’t claim that’s how I played the shot.